Backseat of my
by theytalktome
Summary: They hadn't been alike in any way: but a few changes brought back from the past could always change that. Slash: JBL / CM Punk.


Key:

****** -Passing of time.**

**~~~ - Passing of Day.**

**=== - Elsewhere.**

Conversation had been light tonight, which had been a surprise with all of the drama that had been floating around lately. Everyone had put up their best work for the crowd tonight, and as result the locker room banter was remotely low on active conversation and more concerned with getting to their hotels and entering a comatose sleep, be it with each other or not.

The professor of "Thuganomics" had been the first one out the door, par for absolute embarrassment. Bothering the third-generation superstar wasn't the best idea - ever. It always ended the same exact way, and it wasn't going to change any time soon. He finished getting ready to leave, with his bag around his shoulder and his arm around The Legend Killer. Some clever pass had been made at him, and he had been shot down in a firey storm of sarcasm and a few insightful insults tailored to the moment that made the rest of the room laugh and the other leave promptly to devise a new plan. He hadn't learned, and re-entered the locker room twice with a planned idea for them to spend the night together doing something before doing each other.

The door opened again, and with much annoyance in his voice, "John, just leave. Stop embarrassing your self. I don't like you, in fact, you're annoying me into being even closer to Dave."

"As much as that worked out for me, wrong John," Batista chuckled, motioning to the door that opened up.

The other John made his way through the locker room, he'd been such a classic cowboy as he slipped his arms around his own unlikely version of Mrs. Kitty. Manicured hands interlocked with tattooed ones lips had trailed up and down his neck, waiting for his younger half to finish what he deemed the most useless conversation there ever could have been. His face had buried into the crook of his neck, gently inhaling the new scent lingering on his skin, "What is that?"

"What's what?"

"The smell,"

"I'd tell you, but then you wouldn't like it," he laughed.

"Sure I would, Phil."

"Rey let me borrow his --"

"Don't want to know anymore."

"Told you so."

John rolled his eyes, letting go of him to grab his bag, "Finish up here, the limo is waiting, we're going home."

Their conversation had sparked jealousy in everyone around them. Home. Punk was glad that the venue had been close to home, he couldn't take much more of the hotels, and a break from them was much needed, even if they didn't have as long as they would like to spend there.

"At least that's more fucked up than me and Cena. As if I would ever sink that low," Randy scoffed as he bummed a cigarette from someone, turning back to Dave and rolling his eyes, "I wouldn't be caught dead with Layfield, either."

"You turned him down with out him being interested, or you knowing."

Nobody had exactly been supportive of JBL and CM Punk being together, it drew an incredible amount of shock from everyone. Nothing could really compare to the look on Mr. McMahon's face when he had walked in on the two of them in one of the backstage rooms from misleading signs that none other than DX had decided would be fun to switch. Shawn Michaels had been one of the very first people to even know about the relationship, which made for a series of wonderful jokes. They had been so different that it didn't even take much to make it hilarious.

The moment it had broken out, there wasn't a single friend of theirs that hadn't attempted to put an end to it.

"It's not like it's going to last anyways."

"Are you jealous?"

"No."

"Guys, I think Orton's jealous of them. Probably because he want's Cena so bad!"

"Shut up, Dave. You're lucky I think you're good enough for me."

***********

****

Punk smiled at his reflection in the tinted windows of the limo, the city lights had always made him think a little bit more about life and contemplating things. He looked to John's reflection, busy tapping away on his blackberry. He laughed softly, getting a glance from him and saying nothing in return, John offered a smile to him from just the silence that was present besides the blaring music that sounded like crashing noises and screaming lyrics that couldn't be deciphered. Punk couldn't imagine being with out John. He couldn't imagine how his friend's hadn't realized how happy he'd been with him.

With a smirk on his pierced lips, he crawled across the leather seats, taking the blackberry from him and replacing it with himself. There had been much better things to play with...

****************

*******

John Layfield laid up on his couch, one hand hanging off it, fingers playing with Punk's long black hair as he began to fall asleep with the magazine on his chest. A soft giggle made him open his hershey colored eyes, glancing down at the younger man in the beanbag chair on the floor. A page-in-his-magazine ago he had been innocently typing a new blog up, and now he had been surfing through something new, keeled over on the laptop suffocating from his laughter.

"What in the hell has gotten into you?"

"Look at your face!" he gasped, desperate for breath as he rolled off the bean bag.

"....What?" he asked, picking up the laptop, "...That isn't funny," he snorted, shooting him a glare.

"It's hilarious! You -- You, oh god, you look ridiculous!"

"I did not."

"It's even more hilarious now! You used to be so bad-ass looking!"

John rolled his eyes, closing the laptop. "I did not look "hilarious," Phil."

"You looked more than ridiculous."

"That was a long time ago."

"If you looked like that, still, and tried to ask me out, I think I'd die laughing in your face!"

"...Hmph."

"Oh, don't pout at me. That's all your fault," he brushed himself off and picked himself off the floor to plop down next to John, "At least you don't have that ridiculous mustache and goatee."

"...You have facial hair."

"But I look damn good."

John rolled his eyes.

"And your ears were pierced," he snickered, "Oh god..."

"...You mean to tell me you've never seen what I looked like earlier in my career?"

"No..."

"....How could you not have?"

Punk shrugged, "I don't know, but you look funny as hell! You where such a bad ass rebel, weren't you?" he taunted.

"...I still am."

"Still are funny lookin'? Aww, that isn't nice."

"No! I look amazing, just so you're aware! I meant, I am still pretty bad ass."

"Of course you are," he snickered, "You used to have hair, too."

The amused smile turned to a dead stare, and moments later turned to worry, "I have hair..."

Punk giggled, kissing him and attempting to lighten him up; knowing he might have just went a little too far.

"I have hair."

"You're not balding that bad, baby."

"I'm not balding at all."

"But I notice it sometimes when you're being tossed around in the ring! -- Or kicking ass in it for that matter - And when--"

"I don't want to hear it," John got off the couch and moved away from him, pretending to be preoccupied with something.

"I don't care if you are... I don't mind, I like you the way you are now - and absolutely more with out that beard."

"Go to bed."

CM Punk got off the couch, realizing just how serious John had been about this. He dragged the beanbag to its original place and made no attempts to say good night as he sulked off to their bedroom, doubting that John would even come to bed after that.

***********************************

********************

Within the hour John had managed to come up with what he considered his brilliant idea. With a glob of black dye in his hair that had once been a light brown with professional blonde high lights. He'd been convinced that Punk had seen what he looked like earlier before - convinced the world had seen and religiously followed his every move. It hadn't been out of curiosity that Punk ended up finding pictures on the internet, it was him hinting at something.

He managed not to wake the younger man up as he slipped into their bedroom, roaming through the box that he'd kept his lip rings in and grabbing four to shove through his ears - in the downstairs bathroom to prevent waking him. Finding a safety pin had been the next task, and after a long half hour of searching the house he realized that his lover was one of those crazy gothic kids with safety pins lodged into the fabric of their clothing, and with one glance into the closet he managed to find a pin.

Much of the night had been spent out on the balcony, yelling into a cell phone and making demands at the most idiotic time of night that absolutely needed to be fulfilled by morning.

As everything he needed began to fall into place he found himself in the bathroom, rinsing the deep black from his hair and blinking at himself in the mirror - it didn't even look remotely good... He messed it around from his current conservative hairstyle, trying desperately to make it look a lot cooler than it could ever be at the short length it was.

Tattooed hands locked onto the bed sheets and pillows, holding them as hard as possible down onto his head, much mumbling coming from his mouth that couldn't sound an audible word to safe his life. Eventually, everything had been ripped off of him and he'd been staring up at something totally unrecognizable, it made him scream and grab his nearest plush animal. "What the hell?! --John?!"

"You like?"

"...I don't even know what to say..." he stared at him, his eyes looking over every inch of his body. He knew it was his own fault this had happened. "What are you doing?"

"I'm doing this for you."

He knew it. God how he knew it... "Alright... I'm going back to sleep --"

"No. We're leaving."

Punk dreaded being out in public with John looking like that... "Leaving where, babe?" he tried to sound loving.

"Texas."

"...Okay," he rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the bed, "When's our flight?"

"We're not taking a flight."

Driving was not what he wanted at this point. "But... B-.... Sweetheart, I ..."

"Come on, get dressed and we're leaving."

He nodded. He didn't need to wash his face to feel awake now. Seeing John like that had been enough of a shock to the system. He tried his best to glance out into the bedroom and get over what disaster he had so obviously had been fault for, he should have kept his mouth shut and he knew the hard truth of that.

He looked up from spitting out the paste in his mouth, the sound of the spurs on John's cowboy boots made him chuckle, rinsing out his mouth before he had a pair of leather-gloved arms slip around his waist. He stared into a mirror - god what a strange couple they had made, but the love was obviously there. That's all that counted anyways.

"You done?"

"Don't I have to pack?"

"No. I'll buy you what you want when we get there."

"Okay..."

"Plus, your clothes don't stay on that much anyways; they're all clean."

"My god," he laughed, "You're getting dirtier every day."

"Kinda hard with you around."

Punk hardly had time to grab his sidekick off the kitchen counter as John was dragging him out the door. The elevator to the parking garage gave them just enough time to complete a game of monopoly - John's favorite - if they'd even taken the game with them. He listened to the chain-sounding spurs echo in the garage, waiting until they got to Texas to smell the morning air. He'd probably get himself lung cancer smelling the cigar scent that practically oozed off of Layfield.

"There."

"..You ... you can't seriously mean that--"

"Yes, my dear straight edge kid. I do."

"...Can you even drive that?"

"Yes."

"Oh..." he shrugged and looked it over again, and back to John. "Where do I put my feet?"

"No pegs for a reason, darlin'."

Punk rolled his eyes and slipped his arms around John, he was getting so devious. "And why is that?" he whispered, easing up to the sudden appearance, a smirk forming on his lips when John kissed back "As if my darling couldn't be more obvious? You're going to want me at every stop light... Aren't you?"

"It'll make the ride a lot better."

John swung his legs over the monstrous motorcycle, and Punk took a deep breath before hopping onto the back of the Harley. Still, this hadn't all sunken in, and as soon as the engine blasted into his ears he jumped closer to him, "Shit!"

"Just relax," John turned and smiled at him before they took off.

Being out by a certain time proved to serve a purpose. John had to show off and drive by the coffee shop he'd obviously told their friends to meet them at. They saw both of them, of course. They all looked beyond shocked, and would have second guessed that it was John if they hadn't known just how beyond faithful Punk was.

Punk wore the black Cowboy hat John had on in the house, before he revealed the jet black hair he managed to spike. It had looked like he'd spent the night over in The Dead Man's hotel room, raiding through his suitcases and getting a crash course in getting on a motorcycle. With all the chauffeurs, Punk couldn't imagine Bradshaw even remotely remembering how to drive anything. Complete with leather chaps and a jacket - Blackjack Bradshaw had returned.

"So... How long is this ride going to take?" Punk asked, re-securing his legs around John's waist as the light turned green.

"Three days."

"What?!"


End file.
